


Full Circle

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Epic Kiss, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Future Fic, Reunions, Tumblr Prompt, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:  Give us a full on running embrace + dramatic desperate kiss. Like a 10/10 kiss. Forget the world kiss. The most epic lovers kiss to ever epic.</p><p>Summary: Clarke goes missing for a few days, and when she returns, she finds that Bellamy has gone to look for her. Fear creeps in, because history seems to be repeating itself, but this time, she doesn't know if she can survive the fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

She had gotten complacent. Clarke didn’t know how, because you would think after facing Grounders and Mountain Men, hemorrhagic fever and a wild gorilla, that she would’ve learned to always be on her guard by now. What had made her assume that going out on a late-day herb-gathering mission alone with only a knife as protection was a good idea? The months of peace with the Woods Clan after rescuing their people from Mount Weather must have made her soft, lulling her into a false sense of security. Somehow, she had forgotten the possibility that another enemy was always around the corner.

Now, here she was, sprinting through the forest as some rogue Trigedakru warriors pursued her. During their last meeting, Lexa had mentioned whispers of an uprising, driven by dissenters who still thought eliminating the Sky People was the best thing for the twelve clans. Without concrete evidence, though, there was nothing either of them could do.  _How’s this for evidence_ , Clarke thought darkly as she dodged low-hanging branches and patches of exposed rock while running for her life. With dusk falling quickly around her, Clarke realized she needed to find a hiding spot, because the forest was nearly impossible to navigate in the dark at this speed.

 _Bunker or buried car?_  The bunker was probably a bit closer, but Clarke’s throat closed up as memories—both bittersweet and horrible—of her times there with Finn flashed through her thoughts.  _Buried car it is._

Tearing through the undergrowth, Clarke tried to move as stealthily as possible, to not give away her path to the warriors chasing her. Just as she reached the hidden door, she heard angry shouts in the distance. She opened the compartment and jumped in, hoping her pursuers were far enough behind her that they hadn’t seen her descend. If they had, well, she was screwed.

For almost half an hour, Clarke sat in heavy, tense silence, straining her ears to listen to the noises outside. She almost screamed when whispered voices suddenly sounded from above her; she hadn’t heard the enemy approach. Even knowing there was metal and ground between her and them, she held her breath until the voices fell away once more. As she shifted from her cramped position, a painful stinging flared up on the back of her upper right arm. Twisting it around, she hissed at the pulling sensation, realizing one of their arrows had nicked her. She groaned, rolling up her sleeve to bunch it over the wound as a makeshift bandage. When she tried to press down to stop the bleeding, though, her fingers wouldn’t tighten correctly. Instead, they spasmed and grew weak.  _Poison_ , Clarke thought, her stomach twisting with dread.

With uncoordinated movements—that stuff was working fast—she dug through her pack for her personal antidote kit, which she had made for all of the delinquents a while ago. As she began to uncork the correct cure, her hand shuddered, and the container dropped to the floor. Swearing, Clarke scrambled to pick up the now almost-empty vial. Knowing that whatever was left would have to suffice, she knocked it back, licking her lips to get the last bitter drops. 

Over the next few hours (days, she realized later), Clarke almost wished there hadn’t been any antidote left, because whatever small dose she had given herself was just enough to keep her conscious as the poison wreaked havoc on her body. She was awake through the cold sweats and raging fever, the painful muscle spasms and uncontrollable coughing fits that spewed blood and foam on the wall supporting her head. Every time the poison threatened to drag her under, her antidote-induced awareness of the pain pulled her back from the abyss. She was in purgatory, and she couldn’t quite decide which way she wanted the verdict to go. 

In the end, the antidote won out. Even with her symptoms subsiding, it took a while for her limbs to recover enough strength to let her crawl from the bunker. Finally in the daylight, Clarke licked her cracked lips, tasting blood and sweat, and began finding her way back to camp. The first few hours were excruciatingly slow going, and even after her pace improved, she had to sit and rest often. By the time she spotted the camp’s fence line, Clarke was ready to scream in frustration and exhaustion.  As she stumbled through the gate, anxious but relieved shouts called through the yard. Soon after, many pairs of arms embraced her, the delinquents and her mother not able to keep their distance. With a tired smile, Clarke blinked, trying to stay with them, but her fatigue was too strong. Slowly, she felt herself crumple, falling to the ground, only then realizing that Bellamy had not been there to greet her with the rest. 

* * *

The soreness in Clarke’s muscles hadn’t lessened when she finally woke the next morning. Blinking open bleary eyes, she sat up in the medbay cot, wincing at the pained movement. Her mother was there immediately, taking her vitals, hands hovering as if not quite sure how to comfort her daughter. 

“I’m fine,” Clarke rasped out, hauling her legs over the cot edge. 

“Clarke,” Abby pleaded, a warning note in her voice.

“I’m up, I’m fine. I’m going to find Raven.” Shoving off the cot, she limped out of the medbay, her limbs groaning in protest. Surprisingly, Abby didn’t follow, and Clarke sighed in relief. Things were still rough between them, but slowly, day-by-day, her mother was giving her the space and respect she needed. 

The walk to Raven’s workroom took longer than Clarke expected, as she had to stop and smile reassuringly at the various delinquents and Arkers that she passed in the hall who asked after her well being. Finally, when she trudged into the mechanic’s room, she nearly collapsed on the first stool she saw, the poison-induced fatigue still pulling at her.

“Shouldn’t you be in the medbay?” Raven said dryly from behind her worktable, barely looking up from studying some plans from engineering. “You did almost just die.”

“I need the Trigedakru radio. Lexa should know rogue warriors from one of the clans are attacking.” 

“Already done. Your mom saw the arrow wound and guessed what had happened. She had quite the discussion with the commander.”

Clarke sighed, feeling her frustration rise. “Did she say anything that I need to smooth over?”

“No, she was fine. Angry, but fine. Lexa was almost as pissed as she was. Guess it doesn’t look good that she can’t control her own people.” Raven’s tone turned just the slightest bit sneering at the end, and Clarke couldn’t blame her, not with the history there, not after Finn. Still, she had to bite her tongue against defending Lexa, as she knew arguing with Raven about the commander wasn’t a smart path to pursue. 

Pausing, Clarke took in a deep breath, contemplating asking the real question she had come here for. Ever since she realized Bellamy was missing, the knot in her stomach tightened as her guess at where he was and what he was doing grew more certain.

Finally, not being able to stand it anymore, Clarke blurted out, “Where’s Bellamy?”

Raven’s busy hands froze for the slightest second before continuing to scribble corrections over Wick’s designs. Flicking a careful glance up at Clarke, Raven said evenly, “You were gone for days, Clarke. You know he couldn’t just sit here and not do anything about that.”

Clarke closed her eyes and exhaled, her heartbeat quickening at the expected but still undesired response. “He went looking for me.”

Raven didn’t reply, just looked at her again with a pained grimace.

Biting her lip, Clarke willed away the gathering tears.  _Not again_ , she thought with a sinking heart. Memories from months ago flashed in her mind, and her stomach twisted as she recalled what had happened the last time someone had tried to rescue her.

“When will they goddamn learn I can rescue myself,” she whispered. 

The scribbling sounds stopped, and Clarke swallowed thickly as she heard Raven round the table.

“Hey,” the mechanic said. “He’s going to be fine. A few Guards went with him, and they were all armed, but they’re not stupid enough to do something to break the treaty, not even for you. We’re all going to be fine.”

At the fire and conviction in Raven’s words, Clarke opened her eyes, watching her friend stare down at her with feet planted wide and arms crossed firmly in fierce determination.

“Should I go after him?” Clarke said, standing up from the stool. She had to do something; she couldn’t just sit here and wait for him to come back.

“You two,” Raven scoffed. “If one of you would just stay put, for god’s sakes, you’d stop this merry-go-round of chasing after one another.”

Shifting uneasily, Clarke looked away from Raven, because her words seemed to hold a heavier weight than the situation required, as if there was something else she was trying to say. 

“If you want to be useful,” Raven continued, pointedly ignoring Clarke’s discomfort, “you can deliver those batteries to Sinclair in the engine room. After that, I’m sure your mother can find something to keep you busy. If she says you need more recovery time, just threaten to leave and go after Bellamy. That should keep you drowning in mundane chores until he gets back.”

Clarke let out a small, quiet laugh at the defiant grin on Raven’s face. “Sure thing, boss,” she said dryly, adding a mock salute.

Rolling her eyes, Raven turned back to her worktable. With a nod farewell, Clarke began to limp her way back to the medbay, desperately needing something to keep her trembling hands busy and her anxious mind occupied.

* * *

Three days later, not even the most difficult chores could keep Clarke from worrying about Bellamy. It was all she did, from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes at night. Even in sleep she wasn’t spared. Dreams warped her memories, placing Bellamy at the end of a gun that wouldn’t stop shooting, as he called out her name like a war cry.  _I found you,_ he would whisper in a voice that wasn’t his. She would startle awake breathless, gasping though silent tears as her stomach rolled with nausea. Squeezing her eyes shut, she would remind herself that Bellamy was smarter, that he would’ve learned the lesson, that he would trust that she could take care of herself.

Her stomach twisted with anxiety almost as often as her mind did. Her mother and Raven seemed to be carefully monitoring her eating habits, looking at her in the mess hall with wary glances. Clarke knew she looked like hell; the restless nights resulted in paler skin and dark circles under her tired eyes. Still, she ate with her normal appetite, despite the queasiness of concern that was always present. Bellamy would be livid if she added not eating on top of not sleeping. They knew better than that, after the dropship, after the war. Besides, how many times had she nagged him about taking care of himself so he could take care of others? It was only fair that she listened to her own advice, for his sake at least, because he was coming back. There wasn’t any other alternative that Clarke was willing to accept. 

Three more days passed, and Clarke still abandoned whatever task was at hand whenever the clang of the gate opening sounded through camp. Each time, her heart leapt because  _it could be Bellamy._  Every time it wasn’t, her chest seized up, because it meant he was still out there, looking for her, possibly crossing some line that he couldn’t come back from.  _He knows better_ , she would murmur to herself, trying to convince her tired, doubtful mind that this time would end differently than the last. 

It was late on the seventh day after her return when, seated at her desk in the medbay, Clarke heard shouting from outside in the yard. Stumbling as she got up, she ran with hurried, worried steps down the halls, stopping abruptly at the small crowd of people at the Ark entryway. Pushing her way forward, she slipped next to her mother, who was listening to a scuffed-up, dirty Guardsman with an intense expression on her face. 

“It took us days to track and find them, and another few to plan and execute an attack,” the guard rambled on, clearly still running on adrenaline. “But we got ‘em, all of them.”

Clarke froze, unsure exactly what his words meant. Before she could ask, though, her mother interjected.

“Dead or alive?”

“Two dead, couldn’t be helped, but the other three we took alive. Bellamy was quite adamant about that,” he finished, brow furrowing in annoyance. “He said the Trigedakru commander would want to question them about what happened and punish them herself. They’re currently being guarded by our unit outside the perimeter. Bellamy sent me up here to ask you to contact the commander to send out a retrieval team, as soon as possible. ”

Letting out a shaky, relieved breath at the recap, Clarke pressed her lips together, barely suppressing a thankful smile. The Guardsman started at the sound, finally taking notice of her.

“You’re back,” he commented, surprised. “We thought, with the amount of blood out there—well, it didn’t look good.”

 _They thought I was dead_ , Clarke realized dazedly. 

“She made it back a few days ago,” Abby added softly before turning to Clarke. “Do you want to contact Lexa, or should I?”

 _They thought I was dead._ Clarke didn’t bother responding, just shouldered her way out of the Ark entryway, striding through the yard. As she got closer to the gate, she spotted a small group of Guardsmen at the forest perimeter, several restrained warriors seated at their feet. One man stood apart from the group, gun slung over his slumped shoulders, staring off rigidly into the trees, the wind ruffling his brown curls. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke whispered, her throat closing up as she saw him, whole and intact and  _here._

Her boots slammed against the dry, hard ground as she broke into a run, flying out the gate and down the hill. She almost tripped over some exposed roots but managed to keep her balance because she had to get to him. She had to tell him that she was safe and alive, and that she was so goddamn happy that he hadn’t killed in her name, that he had come back to her the same as she had left him. History would not repeat itself, not this time. 

At the foot of the hill, in a desperately breathless voice, she called out his name. Bellamy whipped around, astonishment etched into every line on his mud-flecked, weary face. Before he could even take a step towards her, she slammed into him, wrapping her arms so tightly around his neck as she pressed every line of her body to his. The feel of his warmth electrified her skin, and she burned from the inside out. Clinging to him, Clarke felt his arms clap around her, roughly hauling her up against him. The force made him stumble back, dragging her along as well. As he tried to find his footing, the tips of her boots dragged along the ground, but she refused to move away and steady herself. 

“Clarke,” he breathed, the low whisper hoarse with shock and relief. “Oh my god, Clarke.”

“I’m here,” she murmured, leaning her head back to stare into his frantic eyes. “I’m here.”

Bellamy uttered her name one more time, voice thickening with something that sent a hot twinge straight down her chest and through her stomach, settling low within her. Then his lips crashed into hers, warm and rough and desperate, and all breath left her body. Clarke gasped against him, but wouldn’t break away, pouring all of her pent-up worry and relief into the kiss. Rolling her chest up, she vied for control, because they were Clarke and Bellamy, and damn if she would let him lead so singlehandedly. With a deep chuckle, he slid his fingers, which had twisted into the thin fabric of her shirt, down to her thighs, grazing their insides before wrapping strong hands around them and hefting her up into his arms. To steady herself, Clarke wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, locking her ankles at his lower back. She let out a quiet, low groan as he slid his tongue against hers, deepening the kiss. Letting herself get lost in the feeling, Clarke concentrated on the warmth gathering inside her, slipping her fingers into his hair and tugging when the heat got to be too much. 

When they finally broke it off, neither of them could catch their breath. Clarke wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to, because he felt like nothing she had ever experienced, either in the sky or on the ground. Knocking her forehead lightly against his, she closed her eyes, too overwhelmed to deal with the intense emotions flaming up in his stare. She felt tears gathering, all of the ones she had held back while he was gone. Only when he whispered her name again, love intimately lacing each syllable, did the tears overflow, rolling down her cheeks in thick rivulets. The buildup was too strong; she couldn’t stop it. A choked sob escaped her lips. Embarrassed, she dropped her head to his shoulder, pressing her mouth against his neck to muffle her cries. 

Bellamy just started walking, holding onto her tightly as she continued to cry. Vaguely, Clarke realized he headed for the forest, away from prying eyes and burdensome responsibility. He didn’t go far, because otherwise people would worry, but soon it was just them, and the damp air, and the rustling leaves. When he slowly set her down, she kept her arms around his neck, loosening them only the slightest bit. With ambling steps, he backed her into a tree, one leg tucked between her two and hands clutching her hips tightly. 

“I thought—” he started hoarsely.

“I know,” she interrupted. 

They said nothing else, just listened to each other breath. Clarke synced up the rise and fall of her chest with his rhythm, absentmindedly running her fingers over Bellamy’s face. In response, his thumbs reached up to rub small circles on her cheeks, leaving blushing streaks in their wake. Slowly, he used his fingers cupping the back of her head to arch her neck and leaned down to give her a soft, lingering kiss. The pressure ignited a current in her body again; it thrummed through her chest, causing her to hum contentedly. Bellamy moved forward, plastering his front to her front, and slid his hands from her neck, over her shoulders, and down to brush his knuckles against her sides. The kiss and his touch were hesitant, gentle, an attempt to control, but not dampen, whatever fire had been raging inside them both back at the edge of camp. 

Moving her hands down to his chest, she pushed against him slightly, and they both slowly drew back from the kiss. When she opened her eyes, his were still closed, his face still and a bit stunned. She let out a soft laugh, and he smiled. It was a soft smile, a pleased one, and made him look so very, very young. Clarke’s breath caught in her throat, because she was looking at someone she had never seen before. This side of Bellamy hadn’t had a chance to exist on the ground yet, and his dazed look told her it was unnerving for him as well. 

Finally, he opened his eyes, looking down at her with concern. “You okay?” He murmured, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear from her chin.  

“I’m fine, I just—you went looking for me.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Of course I went looking for you. You were gone for days, Clarke.” 

Knocking her head back into the tree, Clarke stared at the sky, wondering how to explain how worried she had been and why. “I can rescue myself, you know.”

Bellamy sighed. “Clarke—”

“No, what I mean is,” she paused, willing the rawness in her throat to subside. “I don’t want anyone—I don’t want to have anyone—you can’t just go off and do something for me, like that. It’s too much, after the last time, and—I don’t know I could go through that again.”

“Clarke, look at me.”

Slowly, she tilted her head down, his serious eyes catching her anxious gaze. 

A corner of his mouth quirked up, giving her a reassuring half-smile. “I know, that’s why I tried so damn hard to take all of them alive. Even though we thought, I thought—” he broke off, voice catching, because it was still too soon, “I knew we couldn’t kill them, that we had to bring them back to Lexa intact, to keep the peace. I did that, for you.”

Clarke felt tears well up again, this time from happy surprise, and she let out a watery laugh. “Damn it, stop making me cry. I don’t cry,” she complained. 

“Then come here,” Bellamy said softly, pulling her into another tight embrace. 

Clarke didn’t know how long they stood there intertwined as the dusky forest light gradually dimmed around them, wind blowing softly through the trees and making the leaves dance with a rustling sigh. At some point, Bellamy slipped his hand into hers, interlocking their rough, scarred, but strong fingers, and tugged her away from the tree. Side by side, hands swinging between them, they made their way back to camp, reveling in their newfound intimacy. 

When they emerged at the edge of the forest, night had fallen, and they paused, watching the pinpricks of light from various campfires flicker behind the fence. Their people’s voices sounded across the fields, laughter and happy shouts punctuating the still silence. Emotion welled in Clarke’s chest as she realized, for the first time, that this was what home felt like.

“Ready?” Bellamy asked, turning to look at her with a small smile.

Sighing contentedly in return, Clarke squeezed his hand and replied, “Whenever you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee).


End file.
